


hay's code house (and the dangers of bad acting)

by asexuelf



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No D.O.G., Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Background Poly, Bisexual Sal Fisher, Canon Gay Character(s), Diane Fisher Lives, Homophobia, M/M, my headcanon that travis has been w other dudes before sal makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: Sal's first visit to the Phelps' household doesn't go exactly as planned.
Relationships: Sal Fisher/Travis Phelps
Comments: 19
Kudos: 66





	hay's code house (and the dangers of bad acting)

**Author's Note:**

> AFTER TEN DAYS... THIS PIECE OF WORK IS FINALLY FINISHED. AND IT'S EVEN LONGER THAN MY PREVIOUS LONGEST ONE-SHOT! :D
> 
> sorry for the wait on this one. my last few fics have flopped a bit, so i wanted to really focus on making sure this one was of high quality owo
> 
> kenneth phelps is a bit cartoonish in his villainy here, despite there being no cult in this fic (well, no god-killing space cult), but hopefully not so cartoonish that he's unrealistic. travis' mother is also cartoonish in the opposite direction, to play on the hay's code thing and old sitcom families.
> 
> warnings for: domestic abuse, homophobia, implied/mentioned conversion therapy, dog attacks, ableism, so much ableism, sexism/misogyny, and one very suggestive (consensual) scene
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!

"I can't just leave!"

The door slams behind Travis as he follows Sal into the empty apartment, the hefty _bang!_ followed instantly by his own shout of fright. He sighs, shoulders slumping and face growing rougey as he bats away Sal's comfort.

Focusing instead on the plastic bags of convenience store snacks he's toting, Travis stomps to the kitchen, leaving Sal wincing for poor David in 302. Sal watches him walk away, trailing slowly behind and staring at a small patch of sweat that soaked through Travis' violet shirt. It sticks the soft material to his skin, pulling strangely when he slaps the bags next to the sink.

"I can't just leave," Travis says again. He stacks the snacks on the counter, removing them haphazardly from the bags. "I- I know I have to, I can't keep living under my father, but my mom is still there. I _won't_ leave her alone with him."

Sal's heart beats out of time for a moment. Right, of course. Travis _would_ be worried about his mother. The way he talks about her, one would assume she hung the moon - after sculpting it herself and selling it in an art auction for children in need.

"Can't you talk to her?" Sal tries. He steps forward and puts his hands on Travis' hips, soaring at how quickly Travis relaxes under his touch. "She should leave with you."

"I know Christianity can be hard to understand, but..." Travis stops and sighs, carefully not turning around in Sal's hold. Tapping his fingers against the kitchen counter, leaning both from and towards Sal, he looks... embarrassed. His ears are dark. "It's important to her that she serves her husband and serves God. I don't- I've tried to talk to her, but she says her place is by my father, for better or for worse."

"That's ridiculous. Your father is a horrible man. If this is about religion, shouldn't she, I don't know, find someone worthy of serving? I mean, I'm not religious and even I'd be pressed to call your father a man of God."

Travis turns, throwing his arms in the air. "That's what I tell her! Father cherry-picks whatever he likes in the Bible - or more likely, whatever old ass mistranslated verses will give him the most power - and then _sells those lines_ for money! He goes against Christ just by running that big stupid church, nevermind by taking so much of that money for himself."

"I guess the money issue can't be helping her, either…" He pulls a hand away to scratch at his head, squeezing a finger under the thick strap of his prosthetic to reach his scalp. "It's been nearly two decades since she had a job, I'd imagine. Leaving would be near impossible unless she started stealing money."

"And Father keeps a watchful eye on the finances. For all he is, even he knows that if you beat a dog enough, it'll run. It's been hard enough for me to find a way to make money, let alone for my mother..." Travis pink tongue darts out nervously before he bites his lip - a habit he's endearingly picked up from Ash. "I- I didn't want to ask you this, but. You're so much better than me at talking. You convinced me that my father was wrong, surely you could convince my mom."

"You want me to talk to her?"

"Yes! You don't have to, but… I could invite you over for Saturday. We'd have lunch and then when Father is in his office or something, you can talk to my mom. She won't tattle or anything."

It makes him angry, thinking of a woman being forced to tattle to her husband like she's his child instead of his partner. Travis' mother is even more powerless than Travis himself. And if Sal can do something - anything - to help… 

Travis' eyes are wide and brown and beautiful and so, so hopeful.

"Alright," Sal sighs. He swallows nervously, already feeling the familiar tickle of dread that accompanies anything to do with Travis' family. "I can do lunch."

And that's how he ends up in the Phelps' dining room at 10 AM on Saturday, bored to fucking tears by Kenneth Phelps' self-congratulatory bullshit. The man just goes on and on and on, his voice the awful kind of low that's more akin the buzz of a fly than the gentle rumble of a purr.

Now listen; Sal's never hated anyone.

He doesn't have it in his heart to hate, he thinks. Even when someone is cruel or ignorant, he tends to feel sad more than angry. Compassion is louder in him than any rage, every time.

"Travis, be useful and pour me a drink, would you?"

Travis stands from the dining table immediately, hurrying over to a small cart tucked against the wall where the spirits are. At Sal's house, they're stuffed above the sink and behind the pots no one uses, where Henry hopes Sal and his mothers will never find them. Here, they have their own little cart. It gleams silver against the dark blue wall, catching shadows when Travis hunches nervously over it.

It makes Sal so fucking angry.

"And speaking of useful," Phelps continues. His voice grates like fingernails clawing over Sal's prosthetic. "Where is your mother? It's lunchtime."

"I'm afraid it's only ten, Father." Travis' voice doesn't shake, but it's fragile in a way it never is outside of Phelps' presence. "You woke up earlier than normal this morning."

Kenneth shoots his son a strange look. "I see."

Shaking under his gaze, Travis puts a small glass full of ice in front of his father.

The ice in Phelps' tumbler clinks against the glass as Travis fills it with scotch. Condensation pools around the bottom of the glass, dripping down the sides in a fair mimicry of the sweat trailing Travis' neck.

Sal has never known a hatred like this. Not for the dog that hurt his mother, not for the people who mistreated him over the prosthetic he wears for their benefit, not for anyone on this earth. No one inspires a deep, burning, violent _hate_ the way Kenneth Phelps can. But Sal supposes that's exactly what's made him such a well-off, successful zealot.

Sitting in the house of that zealot now, Sal has never hated anyone more. And he knows he never will.

Careful not to unright the heavy glass decanter, Travis puts the whiskey away before retaking his seat. His hands are shaking, Sal notices, and he hides them in his lap, eyes searching his father nervously.

The man gives him little attention, focusing instead on glowering down at his newspaper, his thin face pulled into a distantly displeased frown.

"Does your father drink scotch, Mr. Fisher?" he asks suddenly.

"No, sir," Sal lies. 

It's mostly true nowadays, anyhow, if for monetary reasons if nothing else - not that that matters. He'd never give this awful man the satisfaction of knowing Henry Fisher's pain. 

"He works full-time, owning his own tech business, so he prefers to stay sober."

"Right. One would have to, with no woman at home. Poor man probably does it all."

"I... have a mother at home, Mr. Phelps." In fact, he has two now, ever since his parents opened their heart to Lisa Johnson. He keeps that to himself as well, continuing instead, "You met her, I think, at a football game last semester. Her name is Diane."

"Yes, yes, the blonde waif. She's crippled, is what I meant. Not much _woman_ there if she can't cook or clean or perform her other wifely duties."

Sal clenches his jaw and tries very hard not to spit just what _'wifely duties'_ the man can perform to Sal's hairy ass. "I think we'll have to agree to disagree there, sir." For Travis' sake, he finds himself grateful that his prosthetic muffles his sudden desire to feel bone under his teeth.

"Not much use disagreeing with the truth, young Sal, but I suppose you boys will learn better once you have wives. All children are shepharded in time."

Sal doesn't bother replying. Best not to go putting anyone in danger over a sick man's power fantasies. He promised Travis that he'd be on his 'best' behavior - and made Travis promise to do the same. If he fucks it up, it won't be this early in the visit.

Content with his perceived victory, Phelps turns to his son. "You may go to your room now. After the disgusting event I was made to witness last time you had a _friend_ over, you'll keep that door open or I'll belt you 'til you cry." He sniffs and turns back to his paper, unaware of how horribly Sal's stomach suddenly revolts. "When your mother calls for lunch, you _will_ be down on time."

His face red-hot and only distantly terrified, Travis nods. "Yes, Father."

He stands, head bowed to the horrible man sitting at the head of the handsome table, before guiding Sal through the halls of the grand, two-story house they're in.

It's Sal's first time at the Phelps' residence. He has no idea what he was expecting, but the level of _grandeur_ does not match up with Kenneth Phelps' perceived saintliness or proclaimed humble living style. Oh, to be the man who owns and leads a big, hateful church - and then steals money from it! It must be a lucrative way to live, if this labyrinth of a house is any proof.

They finally come to a stop, but it's not Travis' bedroom. Instead, they enter a kitchen that Sal thinks looks like one from inside a magazine. It's wide and spacious and full of sunlight. All of the room is the same creamy white color - except for the harried-looking woman at the stove, her dark curly hair framing a tawny face that brings more life into the room than even the light of day streaming through the windows.

Small wonder Travis worships the woman. She glows golden. When she turns and smiles a gummy smile at them, she shines.

"Hi, baby," she says.

Travis goes to her, wrapping his arms around her. He's tall enough that he can rest his chin on her head. "Hi, Mom."

Mrs. Phelps looks over her son's shoulder to meet Sal's eyes through the mask. "You must be Travis' friend."

There's no special inflection in the way she says it - _friend_ \- but somehow, Sal knows she knows. Travis didn't say anything about telling her, but he supposes it's an easy enough jump to make. Hell, even Kenneth Phelps seemed to make some manner of connection, if his threat of violence meant anything.

And after all that preparing they did so that they _wouldn't_ get caught… All Sal can do is hope coming here wasn't a mistake.

Tilting his head cat-like to show he's smiling, Sal reaches a hand out for her to shake. "Yes, ma'am, I am. Call me Sal."

"Harmony." She pulls away from her son and approaches Sal with her arms held out. "I hope you don't mind. I'm a hugger!"

Feeling joy for the first time since entering this haunted house, Sal laughs. "Oh, thank God. I'm a hugger too."

Her hugs are as warm as her smiles.

When they pull away, Sal glances over to his boyfriend, who's looking longingly towards the stove. Memories of making dinner with his boyfriend rise to the surface and he finds himself smiling. Travis loves to cook, but he doesn't get to do a whole lot of it at home. Not with Kenneth Phelps around.

Sal's smile falls.

Harmony looks too, her own face a mirror of fondness and sympathy. "Maybe I can pretend I'm missing something for dinner and send your father to the store? I know you like to help…"

Though his eyes crinkle at the edges, Travis shakes his head. "No, that's okay. He'd probably just send me and Sal anyways." He worms his way back into his mother's arms, leaving a kiss on her head. He seems so much happier here in the kitchen than in the dining room, it makes Sal's chest ache a little. "Thank you, though. For cooking, too."

His mother gives him a confused look, still smiling. "Of course. I'm your mother."

"And I'm lucky for it."

At that, she laughs, finally pushing him away. "Okay, okay. Enough of all that. Why don't you boys go out to the garden house and bring me some of my herbs."

"Which ones?"

"I'm not sure what I'll use yet. Probably just the oregano and thyme, maybe basil. Just the simple ones." She turns to Sal then, as if finally noticing his mask. Her mouth pulls awkwardly to one side, something he's seen her son's do many times before. "I hope it isn't rude to ask: will you be able to eat chicken and broccoli?"

It would be difficult to work such large food under his prosthetic, but he's managed worse before. Better than soup. Soup rarely ends well.

"As long as I can cut the food into small enough pieces, I'll be fine. And thank you for asking. It's actually very thoughtful."

Relieved, Harmony smiles. "Oh, good. After he lost some of his teeth a few years ago, I kept trying to make soft foods for Travis, but he got so frustrated…"

None of them mention it was the man sipping whiskey in the other room who knocked Travis' teeth out. Still, anxious lines appear around Harmony's eyes and her son looks a little harassed, as if the man is somehow suddenly there with them, like a shadow in the corner of the room.

"My dentures help me eat solid foods, Mom." Travis says sheepishly. "And anyways, I have all the teeth on my right side still. I mostly chew on that side, so it's fine either way."

"I know…" She sighs and takes his face in her hands. Her left thumb soothes gently over his cheek, the tender touch almost mournful. "Okay. Crunchy broccoli for you."

That melts his awkward lines into a smile, allowing Harmony to beam back.

"Alright, to the garden with you boys. Your father got up earlier than usual, so he'll be wanting lunch soon."

"Oh yeah, that's what I came in here to tell you!"

Sal straightens up in realization. "Yeah, Mr. Phelps was complaining about being hungry." 

Mostly Sal thought he was just being an ass, but he _was_ complaining about lunch, which probably indicated hunger. Travis seems to think so, at least, and he would be the expert!

"I'll get it started then. Take your time grabbing the herbs, though." Harmony gives them a meaningful wink. "I wouldn't want you coming back with the wrong ones."

"Yes, ma'am," Sal says gratefully as Travis gives his mother another kiss, this time on her hand. "Thank you."

She waves them out of the kitchen, leaving Travis to lead Sal through the maze-like hallways again. They don't walk for very long before Sal is already shaking his head at the shocking amount of _house_ there is to trek through.

"I swear your house is gigantic."

Travis looks around the blue and beige hallway as if seeing it for the first time and shrugs. "It would feel less gigantic if it wasn't just the three of us, I think."

Sal isn't sure that's necessarily true, but he won't argue. It's a little hard to get lost in Addison Apartments and their house back in Jersey wasn't exactly a high-rise. Maybe if he were used to living in a place like this, he'd agree with his boyfriend. Or maybe, were it not for the tiny hanging crystal chandeliers that light this hallway, or the very large one above the dining room, he'd be more inclined to simply take his word.

Despite the size of the house (or the crystal chandeliers that light its rooms), following Travis past picture frames and paintings and houseplants alike leaves Sal slightly bored, especially being that he's unable to stop and rifle through things, but that's okay; before long, they've made it to the backyard.

The back is much less boring. It's like walking into a fairytale.

"Wow!" gasps Sal. "Does your mom do all this?"

Travis turns back and smiles, surprised. "Um, she likes to come out here and garden, yeah. The flowers are pretty, right?"

"Very pretty. It's cool that she grows her own herbs, too."

"Yeah, it is."

They walk to the tiny shed-like building, following the path of grey and white stone. The path is bordered by tiny purple blooms that Sal doesn't know the name of. They enchant him, and he finds himself falling behind Travis, distracted by the brilliant nature surrounding them.

He's not usually the type to wax poetic about daisies and daffodils - he's more of a lost-in-the-bog, dumpster-diving-diy type - but he can't deny the charming beauty of Harmony's garden. Even in this sad, cold house, life has bloomed. And love too.

Sal is so happy that Travis has had someone here. He can't find it in himself to resent Travis' mother for keeping him here, not now that he knows her. She's probably counting down the days 'til her son escapes just as eagerly as Sal is.

"Sal? You coming?"

"Oh- Yeah! Sorry!" 

He bounces up the wooden steps of the garden house behind his boyfriend, then gasps again as he crosses the threshold. It's like a witch's hut in here! There are flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling, above potted plants that are so tall they nearly block out the high square windows. So many books on botany are stacked around on old tables, some faded red old tomes and some brilliantly white paper-spined texts. They're surrounded, too, by gardening tools of many shapes and sizes, many of which Sal has no name for. Spiderwebs hang in the corners of the room, housing black-and-yellow spiders that seem more than content to live and let live. The round rug on the wooden floor is a verdant shade of green and lovingly crusted with old dirt.

Sal loves this place.

"This is incredible, Travis-"

Then he's being pushed against the wall beside the closed door, Travis' forehead and abdomen pressed against his. He notices blearily that they're on the side of the door that means they'd be well-hidden if it suddenly were to open.

Even in the heat of passion, Travis is still on survival mode.

"I hate your stupid fucking outfit," he admits in a hasty exhale. His hands are on the side of Sal's head suddenly, holding him gently, his thumbs carefully pressed closer to Sal's ears than scarred face. "I hate that you have to look like someone you aren't. So much."

Sal has to agree. The outfit isn't a big deal, but he likes being able to express himself with his clothing. After losing his face to that dog, it was like losing his identity. Dressing grungy and goth, wearing pigtails, and defying gender norms is his way of sharing the identity he fought for with other people. Of connecting to a world he was so suddenly disconnected from.

This outfit is decidedly not Sal Fisher.

It's _boring_. He wore his nicest dark pants and a white polo he had to borrow from Todd. He's also wearing Todd's thick watch (also on lend) to look smarter. His hair isn't down all the way (it itches when he does that), but it's only pulled back in a low ponytail, which makes it more likely for his hair to get caught in the straps of his prosthetic. Not to mention he looks like a freaking guidance counselor.

The worst offense was having to rub off all his nail polish. His hands look totally naked.

Travis is shaking. He's been shaking all day, even when he's still.

Sal runs his hands up and down Travis' sides, careful to keep his touch over the shirt and his voice low. "You don't seem like you're holding up very well. Tell me what you're feeling, morning star." 

"I'm so unbelievably fucking terrified," Travis breathes. His hot exhales invade Sal's mask, warming his face. "If I could, I'd drop to my knees and swallow you down right now just to forget about how fucking bad this is going to be."

So much for over the shirt. 

"It's okay, baby," he whispers. Slipping under Travis' shirt, Sal rubs his hand up and down his back in a motion he knows comforts him. "You're being so strong. You're doing this for your mom and I'm so proud of you. When this is all over, it'll be you and me, okay? Just us."

"I wish things were different." He presses a hard, desperate kiss against Sal's prosthetic lips, pushing the lines of the mask against Sal's sensitive scars, then another, then another. He only pulls back when the thin ceramic makes a _clack_ against Sal's exposed teeth. "I wish I could take you somewhere where they'd love you."

And then Travis is crying.

Sal wraps his arms quickly and snugly around Travis' middle. As much as Travis probably wants to say he rarely cries, the truth is he cries often and he cries well. When Travis cries, it's like he digs deep into his chest to push out all of his bad, horrible feelings, expelling them all out until he's okay enough to keep moving. It's cathartic for him. _Healing._

Sal doesn't feel better after he cries. So he closes his stinging eye and holds his sobbing boyfriend close. It's all he can do.

They can't take too long, lest Kenneth get suspicious, but Travis seems to be used to that. He takes a deep, shivering breath and calms himself to the best of his ability. When he pulls back and meets Sal's gaze, it's obvious this particular cry wasn't as healing as it could have been.

Still, his hands no longer shake so violently. He seems calmer, if not any happier. And calmer is safer.

"Sorry," he whispers.

Sal raises a hand and runs a thumb over his bottom lip. "You'll never have to apologize for crying. I love you."

"I love you too." He sniffles, coughs, and rubs at his eyes. "Ugh, shit. Okay. Let's get mom's herbs and head back now."

"Okay. Just lead the way, morning star."

They take a handful of basic herbs from their hanging places and give them to Harmony, who thanks them and shoos them out of the kitchen again (although not before giving her son a kiss over each still-red eye). She tells them it's only so long until lunch, so Travis gives him a tour instead, since Kenneth took up Sal's time the moment they arrived. 

He shows Sal the bathroom, just in case, and Sal is shocked by its size. The shower is in a whole separate room - adjacent to the toilet room, but still! Next is his bedroom, which is plain and sad-looking, devoid of pictures or posters or even any of Ash's Little Dudes that he's taken to sewing with her. To end the tour is the door to a study (Kenneth's; do not enter!), the door to a small library (...mostly weird Christian books, sorry…), and then they go outside again, this time off the side of the house instead of the back.

To the side of the house are the kennels. Dog kennels.

"Are you sure you want to see the dogs?" Travis asks. He looks about as unsure as Sal feels, eyebrows pinched together and mouth pulled in that familiar way.

Still, Sal nods. "As long as you're with me, I know I'm safe."

Travis' smile is worth it - and the dogs aren't very frightening, in the end. They make Sal nervous, but they're perfectly sweet dogs that don't even bark when he approaches them! He manages to pet a short, curly-haired one and enters the house again feeling brave and confident.

Until lunch, anyways.

All goes well, at first. He helps Harmony out by setting the table, then sits next to Travis. Travis is to his right, Kenneth still at his place at the head of the table to Sal's left, and when Harmony finishes handing out plates, she sits across from Travis.

Carefully avoiding a scene, Sal avoids unbuckling his mask and instead listens as Travis and Harmony talk about the meal. Kenneth seems to find it adequate, which gives Sal a boost of relief that makes him despise the man even more. He talks among them for a while, enjoying the casual lunch talk, until Travis turns to him.

"Do you need help unbuckling?" he asks. "If it's caught in your hair, maybe I can help…"

"No, it's okay." He reaches up and does it himself, wincing as it pulls at his hair. He quickly picks up his fork and knife to avoid seeming rude. "I was just enjoying the company."

"Oh, you," says Harmony playfully.

Glad to have that over with, Sal takes a bite of the chicken. It's good! And tender, so he doesn't have to worry about struggling to eat it. 

"Why not take off the mask?" 

Sal's expensive-looking fork makes an awful sound against the fine dining plate. His knife halts its movements and when he turns his head, the undone bottom straps of his prosthetic hit his neck.

Kenneth looks up from his own plate in cool amusement. "It's rude to wear a hat at the table. Certainly that includes masks."

"It's a prosthetic, sir."

"And it's rude." He takes another bite, stares straight at Sal's eyes as he chews and swallows. "Remove it."

"Really, Mr. Phelps, it would make you lose your appetite-"

"I said _remove it_." 

A hard silence follows Kenneth's outburst. It's quiet enough to hear a pin drop, the air still and stifling and awful. Sal tries very hard not to think of what the knife in his hand is capable of.

Then, Travis lowers his fork to his plate and swallows. "Father, please. It makes him uncomfortable."

"You speak for him now? Are you his prosthetic voice?"

"When I need one," Sal finds himself saying. "He's a good man who stands when his friends need him to."

Kenneth shoots Travis a baleful look. "I'm sure." He doesn't sound convinced. Again, the knife in Sal's hand is heavy.

He takes a deep breath. "I apologize if my prosthetic disturbs you, sir. I was attacked by a dog as a child and it's left me-" Oh, he hates to word it this way. "Disfigured."

Travis seems discontent at the wording as well, but for a different reason.

 _You're beautiful,_ Travis told him once. _Not disfigured. Your figure is here, perfect and gorgeous and so- distracting._ He'd kissed the scarred remains of Sal's lips, mouth parted just enough. _You weren't disfigured. Transfigured, maybe._

 _I don't like my new figure,_ he'd only half-joked. _I'd like my old one back._

 _This one's the one I know. So I guess I'm rather attached to it._ That was fair enough - and it would have been hard to argue through what Travis did next to show his attachment, so the conversation was settled, for better or for worse.

Still, for as much as Travis finds him to be simply _changed_ , Sal knows his truth. And he feels great shame at having to admit that truth.

Phelps looks unimpressed. "If it's so morbid, how did you survive?"

Sal strategically drops his fork before Travis can speak up again on his behalf. He looks about to jump out of his skin to defend his Sal, and Sal feels his love like radiation off an atomic bomb, but he won't let Travis get himself into trouble. As long as Travis is in the blast radius, he can't let that love be anything but quiet.

Instead, Sal sighs. "My mother… She took most of the attack. She distracted it and it-" There was so much blood. He couldn't see, he couldn't see, he couldn't - it was all red. Mommy is screaming.

"Sal?"

"Sorry. My mother distracted the dog until paramedics could arrive."

Harmony is staring at him in horror. "Oh, you poor child…"

Poor Diane, more like. Though his mother tries to blame herself, it's his fault they were in that situation to begin with.

"It's alright," he lies. "The prosthetic helps me navigate the world again after the attack. It gives me agency."

At least, his therapist says so. Mostly it feels like a wall put between himself and the world around him, but Dr. Enon is nice, so Sal tries to remember what he tells him. Even when it sounds like bullshit. Even when he tries to place blame on the dog instead of the stupid little boy that ran off to pet it.

"That's good." Harmony puts a hand over her heart. Her golden cross necklace glints in the light. "I'd hate for you to still be in pain…"

"It's mostly to prevent other people from being frightened by my appearance," he admits. "Though the nature of the injuries does make my face very sensitive in some areas."

He continues to chat with Harmony about scar tissue, living without a face, and why he uses a mask instead of more conventional facial prosthetics. As usual, he keeps things vague, though he does mention he has a glass eye. He tells her it's so old that he has to take it out every evening instead of just to clean it when necessary, leaving her shocked.

She blinks at him with wide eyes, perplexed. "Why not get a new one? The dentist said we'll have to get Travis new dentures in a few years…"

"Yeah, the stuff they make false teeth out of can wear down pretty fast…" 

Secretly, he's already begun saving up to help Travis get new ones. The current ones aren't in great shape, considering the violence that caused the need for them hasn't gone anywhere. 

He shakes his head and continues, "It's mostly a money issue, honestly. The eye isn't in awful shape or anything, it just gets a little painful when it's in all night."

He isn't usually fond of this topic of conversation, but Harmony doesn't seem awkward or disgusted at all, so it's easier to share. It might even feel kind of good to talk about it. It seems to be keeping Kenneth quiet, at least, so Sal is happy to keep talking for as long as he can.

That can't last forever, sadly. 

Somehow the subject of money segues into college, which has Kenneth opening his mouth again.

"Are you planning on attending university, Mr. Fisher?"

Sal runs his tongue over his teeth in thought. "I'm not sure yet," he admits. "It can be expensive - and being disabled makes life more expensive already. It looks like my dad's company is doing pretty well though, so I was going to talk it over with him. Most of my friends are already in school, but I could possibly join them in a year or so."

"What would you study?" Harmony gives him a gentle smile. "Don't make fun, but I always thought it would be amazing to be an astronaut!"

"It really would be… And I _did_ enjoy my science classes in high school." He laughs then. "I'm not sure I fit the height requirement, though."

Hiding an affectionate smile, Travis pipes in, "We'll get a big trenchcoat and you can stand on my shoulders."

Sal and Harmony giggle. "Yes! And if it doesn't fool them, they'll know how serious we are. We can't lose."

"Silly boys." Harmony shakes her head fondly. "Really, though. If money wasn't an issue, what would you want to do?"

Sal wiggles his fork. "Probably something to do with trauma therapy. I'm not sure it would be possible given my less-than-comforting appearance, but it would be nice."

"I think it would help," Travis says. He's so quiet, Sal almost doesn't recognize his voice. "People who have been hurt will see that you're like them before they even talk to you. They'll know you aren't just bull- er, I mean, being insincere."

Sal's eyes widen, but then he smiles. "Wow… I never thought about it that way. Thanks, Trav."

Travis shrugs. "For what it's worth, I think you'd make a good therapist. You're very patient and you're very compassionate."

"You do have a comforting presence," Harmony admits.

Sal shifts, grinning and uncomfortable with so much praise. "Oh, stop…"

"Please do." And so Kenneth ruins the mood in only so many words.

Harmony is quick to bring the conversation to Kenneth, asking him things and bringing it back around to the same boring nonsense from earlier. Honestly, Sal figured the man would get tired of talking about himself at some point, but he somehow manages to make it all the way through mealtime.

Despite his earlier claim, Sal is the one who ends up put off his lunch.

Everyone waits until Kenneth stands and excuses them all from the table to start moving about. Harmony stands first as Kenneth leaves the room (likely in the direction of his “study”), quickly flitting around the table to pick up all the dishes.

Sal wants to help, but Travis’ nervous expression tells him better than to try - at least, not while his father is still able to turn back into the room. Then again, Travis’ nervous eyes aren’t set on him, but towards Harmony, and he wrings his hands in his lap and bites his lip like he’s unsure of what to say.

Ah, right. Now would be the best time for their plan to become action.

Sal opens his mouth to talk, but Harmony is too quick, carrying the dishes through the doorway. He stands and follows, Travis clambering behind him, but when she sees them, she only raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve got this, boys,” she says. “Why don’t you go into Travis’ room and let your meal sit-”

“Actually, Harmony, I was hoping to have a word alone with you. If that’s alright,” he adds hastily.

She blinks at him in surprise. “Well- Sure. Just let me get the kitchen cleaned up and I’ll come to you, hm?”

Sal looks at Travis, who nods. “Sounds good to me.”

Harmony smiles, though she looks a tad unsure. “I’m glad. Now, Travis, why don’t you two go off somewhere and let me work.”

“Yes, Mom.” Travis reaches out like he’s about to take Sal’s sleeve - or hand - before quickly correcting himself, turning it into a gesturing thumb. “To my room?”

“Lead the way.” 

The walk there is mostly silent, even a bit awkward. Travis is thrumming with energy, looking even more tremulous than he had when they were in the little garden house. Sal wishes he could reach over and calm him, take his hand like he wanted while they were in the kitchen, but the option isn’t there. For as long as Travis is trapped here, it will never be there.

They make it to his sad, hollow bedroom and leave the door open as was instructed. All that’s in the room is a bed that looks a bit small for Travis’ long limbs, a small bookshelf which also functions as a bed table, and a somewhat comfortable looking chair tucked into the corner. The chair is pressed against the same wall as the door, making it a good look-out spot, in Sal’s opinion. That was probably Travis’ thought when putting it there too.

Given how decadent some of the other things in the house seem, this room feels… disconnected. It’s strange to only notice it now, but Sal squirms a little to think that Travis has the worst accommodations in the entire place. Even the garden’s witch hut is better than this, and that place was full of dirt and spiders.

This place isn’t full of anything. Being here feels cold.

Travis gestures to his chair and Sal takes it. It’s a nice chair, though it seems to sag in the middle from age, making it a little less comfortable than it could be.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

Travis nods, taking his own place on his bed. He crosses his long legs beneath him like he’s trying to make himself smaller. “So… How do you feel now that you’ve been here?”

Sal glances towards the door. “Worse,” he quietly admits. “I want to get you out of here.”

“Me too.” A sigh leaves him. “I’m so sorry for the way you’re being treated. I’m- scared he suspects something.”

“If you want to pack your things and never come back, you can. I never meant to get you into trouble.”

The laugh that escapes Travis is downright desolate. As hollow as the room they’re in. “I was born in trouble, Sally. It’s not your fault.”

He doesn’t say anything about leaving or staying. Sal wants to push the issue, kneel and beg _don’t stay here, please come home with me, please don’t let him hurt you-_ but he knows it would be a lost battle, especially with the door wide open for their whispers to leak down the hallway.

“You-” Travis swallows and looks at the door. “You never talk about what happened. With you and your mom.”

Sal looks at the ground, ashamed. “No. I prefer to keep it to myself.”

“You told my parents. Are you… okay?”

That makes him smile. There’s that sweet guy he fell for. Even through the worst of things, Travis' kindness is like a tiny bud pushing through concrete. Those days a few years ago when his fear was turned to cruelty are behind him now, but Sal has always been able to see the seed beneath the pavement.

“Yeah, I’m okay," he says, shaking the thought from his head. "I know it seems weird but… It kept the peace, y’know? I’m more than happy to share if it keeps you out of the line of fire.”

Travis snorts. “I’ve lived here a while, Sal. I think I’ll do fine on my own.”

“But you _aren’t_ on your own. You’ve got me.”

Some genuine happiness finds its way onto Travis’ face. Faint and impermanent, but still genuine. “I know I do.”

They smile at each other, nothing much left to be said, until Travis’ eyes flash back to the door and his smile falls. There’s no one there - not yet - but Sal feels the weight of Kenneth Phelps’ presence like a boot on his neck all the same. The man looms even when he’s nowhere to be seen.

Sal stands, stretches, and goes over to poke at Travis’ bookshelf.

“Knew it wouldn’t take you long,” Travis teases.

Sal beams. “You know me.”

There isn’t a whole lot to rummage through, but Sal has a decent time cataloguing all of Travis’ things anyways. Probably too good of a time, honestly, considering it’s just a few pocket bibles, a classic or two, and like… _one_ paperclip (which he happily pockets, to Travis’ amusement). He’s starting to think his friends have a point when they say he’s too nosy (and sticky-fingered) for his own good.

Cataloguing the meagre belongings makes him feel strange again about how barren the room is. He _knows_ Travis owns stuff - but there’s nothing. Even the open closet door has very little inside it from what Sal can see.

He peeks at the door, then turns to Travis. “Where are your regular things? Like, gifts and stuff you get from us.”

Travis swallows, glancing to make sure it’s clear again, and whispers, “In Neil’s car. Most of my move out stuff is in his backseat, but I have some stuff stashed at your place and at Larry’s. This is mostly crap I won’t miss.”

Sal nods. Travis’ band shirts and favorite books are at his place, tucked lovingly into a drawer with some things that he’s left over a few times. He won’t admit it now, but he sometimes takes those things out of that drawer just to feel the weight of them. Just to know that Travis exists.

“When Neil, Todd, and I get the new place, I’ll make sure I take all your stuff there too.”

“Thanks, a- anyways,” Sal’s heart pangs. It’s such a small loss, but hearing Travis call him ‘angel’ would make things easier. He wishes this were all over already. “Has Larry decided if he’s moving in too?”

“Not yet,” he sighs. He can’t help the small bit of worry that worms its way into his voice.

Larry’s situation is… complicated. He wants to live alone in the basement, but he isn’t mentally well enough to do that at the moment. He’s in a kind-of serious poly relationship with Maple, but he confessed to Sal recently that he isn’t sure where he wants to go with that, so living with her, her husband, and their kid would be weird, no matter how much he loves baby Soda. The strongest contender so far has been living with the guys, potentially having Ash move in once she’s finished art school, but for some reason, Larry keeps pulling away from the idea.

“Larry’s a complex guy,” Travis says, as if reading his mind.

“He sure is.”

They sigh, falling quiet together as Sal puts Travis’ things back into their proper place. Doing so makes him think of the bag in the back of Neil’s car, the clothes inside probably comfortably warm under the heat of today’s sunny weather. It should be a pleasant thought, but he swallows around an anxious knot in his throat. How long, he wonders, until Travis’ time runs out? How long until a day comes where that bag will belong, suddenly, to no one?

Sal doesn’t want to think about it. Already, the way those eyes have looked at him, have looked at Travis… Kenneth Phelps knows more than he lets on. Kenneth Phelps is a smarter man than Sal likes to admit. Kenneth Phelps knows what his son is - and he thinks it doesn’t matter, because he’s more frightening than Travis is brave.

Sal hates him. Sal hates him so much.

“Will he-” Sal wets his lips. “Will he want to hurt you? Because I’m here?”

Travis swallows hard. Sal doesn’t have to specify the way in which Travis will be hurt - his hushed dread says everything. “I don’t- I don’t want to go back, Sal.”

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again. I swear.”

Before any more can be said, footsteps are heard - light ones, delicate, but still enough to make them flinch away from each other despite their already substantial distance. If it’s Kenneth, if it’s that monster and he heard them, then Sal will fight his way out. Sal will fight if it means Travis being okay.

Then, Harmony is at the doorway. Travis sits up straight at her arrival, looking happy and terrified all at once.

“Hello, boys,” she says tiredly. There’s a sad set to her face that Sal finds worrying. “Why don’t we go out in the garden, Sal, and have that talk. Except, um - I’d like it if Travis came too.”

Sal looks to Travis for guidance once more. Though he’s uncomfortable being put on the spot, Travis still nods, standing from his place on his bed. Together, they follow Harmony through the house.

There’s an uncomfortable tension that accompanies them, making the hallways feel even more haunted than the first few times Sal was lead through them, especially when they pass Kenneth Phelps’ study. Though it isn’t necessary, Harmony turns and puts a finger over her lips before they get too close. Sal follows her lead, stepping as quietly as possible. Luckily he forewent his clunky boots today, instead sporting his worn-down, easy-to-sneak-in converse. He’s done a lot of espionage in these things, but never has it made his heart pump so frantically. Even if he doesn’t hear their footsteps, he almost worries the man will hear the pulse _thump-thump-thump_ -ing so loudly in his throat.

When they’re safely past his office, Harmony ushers them quickly back into her beautiful garden.

If it weren’t for the panicky energy surrounding them all, Sal might have the piece of mind to compliment her abilities. It takes a capable woman to carry so much love into a loveless place like this. It takes a capable woman to take what was once lifeless and breathe love into it.

She leads them further into the garden to a tiny sitting area Sal hadn’t noticed before, hidden behind grand walls of shrub. The sitting area is a round, white table with three chairs around it - one pushed next to either side of the shrub and the other facing it. When he takes a seat, he notices that he can see the house through the foliage, but it doesn’t seem like someone would be able to see him.

Maybe it was Harmony who put Travis’ chair in the corner after all. She had to learn her tricks far before he was old enough to know to, Sal realizes. Harmony has been doing this for a long time.

Harmony sits down and takes a deep, shuddering breath. When Travis puts a hand over hers, she flinches.

“Mom, is everything okay?” He swallows again. “You seem…”

“Scared?” She nods. “Yes, I- Well, I went to your father’s office before coming to get you boys and- he said-”

She stops then and looks away, eyes situated on the house. Sal looks too, but no one is coming. Not yet.

“He knows,” Sal says with certainty.

“It doesn’t matter what he knows. He told me that. And he said- He said he’ll do what he feels is best and what he feels is best is-” She takes a deep breath. Then she takes another, growing unsteadier with each one. “He wants to take you there after your friend leaves, to talk to the other men of the church.”

Travis shivers. “I can’t, Mom. I can’t. It’s not just talking. They’re- They’re gonna hurt me.”

“I won’t let them.” Harmony and Sal meet eyes in surprise, then in solidarity. A determination burns between them, shared and understood.

Eyebrows pinched together, Travis nods. “Oh- okay. But- how?” A bead of sweat follows the line of his face from his forehead to his jaw, glistening amber in the sun.

Harmony looks sadly at him. Her eyes follow the droplet from his chin to his shirt, then close, her eyelashes dark against the highlight of her cheeks. “You should go with Sal. I have… I have a bag ready for you, in the shed by the kennels. It’s just some clothes and the leftovers from lunch, I couldn’t get any money together, but-”

“Come with me.”

Harmony’s eyes blink open in shock. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Mom, please, that’s- that’s why I invited Sal over to begin with. I thought he could convince you to leave Father once and for all. You won’t be safe until-”

“Don’t tell me what I’ll be, Travis Ezekiel Phelps!” She shakes her head, her wild curls bouncing around her. “He is my _husband_ and it is my duty-”

“It’s your _duty_ to care for _yourself!_ ”

“Young man-”

Sal puts his hands up, eyes carefully turned towards the house. “Please, let’s turn the volume down. I’m a little nervous.”

The two give each other a serious look, then nod. They each look hurt - but more than that, they both look scared. Scared for each other in ways the other refuses to be for themself. Looking at them makes Sal’s heart break.

Eventually, Harmony sighs. “Alright,” she says. “If that’s why you’re here, Sal, then I’ll hear you out.”

Sal takes a deep breath. He doesn’t feel prepared for this conversation, not anymore, especially not with concern clouding his mind, but he tries anyways, because he _has_ to try anyways, “When you married Kenneth Phelps, why did you do it?”

Harmony blinks, surprised. Then her face grows darker, her eyes looking anywhere but Sal or her son. “Well… A baby isn’t meant to be born out of wedlock. Nor conceived, but it was a little late for that.” She scratches her neck with her still-wobbly hand. “He wasn’t cruel, then. He was kind. I thought… I thought he shared the same values as I did.”

“What are your values, Harmony?”

“I- I want to live my life in Jesus’ name as an ambassador of love. It’s not my place to judge, only God’s. I’m put on this earth to love and love only.” Her eyes are shiny. “Ken doesn’t do a whole lot of that at all. I thought he did once, but... “ 

She doesn’t have to continue. The words hang in the air heavy and violent: _I was wrong._

“...Can you do that now, live to love and love only, when you’re stuck here? With a man that opposes those values so strongly and so naturally?”

Harmony looks down, her sad brown eyes so much like her son’s. This is something she’s thought of often and he can tell. She wants to be anywhere but here. 

“No,” she admits, her words stifled by a thickness in her voice. “But it’s… It isn’t right. He is my husband. He is my _husband_.”

She does not say, _I am his wife._ Sal hears that absence and he knows what she means. He knows.

“He’s not exactly worthy of it, in my opinion,” he shoots back, unable to help the somewhat venomous tone. 

Her pain is so strong here, where he can feel it too. He was wrong, before, when he said there was no one he’d ever hate more in that moment at the table. Every moment that passes, he despises Kenneth Phelps even more.

Still, he attempts to compose himself. Scaring her will do no good. So, as gently as he can manage, he says, “He’s not… He’s not a good man, Harmony. He hurts people. He hurts you.”

Her eyes fill with tears. She closes them and her face, when it crumples, looks so much like the crying Travis sometimes shares with him that he has to blink his own eyes to keep them clear. 

“I know,” she says with the weight of many years of knowing. “I know, Sal.”

Sal turns to Travis and sees him crying too, a distorted mirror of the woman sitting beside him. His heart breaks for these good people. His heart hasn’t stopped breaking for these good people since that first realization in freshman year, his fingers gentle and terrified against the dark bruise staining Travis' eye.

 _It's not his fault,_ Travis had said then. _It's mine. It's all my fault._

Sal had cried then. Oh, how he had cried then, helpless and unable to protect his new friend.

In the present, he turns back to Harmony, taking her hands in his. Her touch is soft, but her hands are rough and calloused from work. In the present, _now,_ today, he can help these people. He can protect them to the best of his ability. He has to try.

“I know it’s hard. I’m not asking you to leave with us - though it would be safer if you did. I just ask…” He sighs. He has to try. “Think about it. Talk to other women of the church. It doesn’t have to be your church. It’s 1995; there’s got to be something you can do to protect yourself.”

She looks between them, her eyes lingering on her son. “You aren’t dropping this, are you?”

“No,” Travis whispers.

“...If I tell you I’m staying, will you refuse to leave?”

“...Yes.”

“No,” Sal says. He shoots Travis a hard look. “I’m not letting you stay here. Not if your father intends to do that to you again. Not ever fucking again.”

“I survived it once, I’ll survive it another time. As many times as I have to.”

“Conversion therapy doesn’t fucking work that way. And with the frankly terrifying methods those people use to _torture you_ \- and yes, it is torture - you cannot look me in the eye and tell me you’ll live.” Travis opens his mouth, but Sal cuts him off. “They fucking waterboarded you, Travis. I don’t care what happens, you _aren’t_ staying.”

Harmony is looking at the house. She looks ashamed.

Angry, Travis closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, blowing out a long exhale. “I’m not leaving my mother here. I told you that to begin with, Sal, and I meant it.”

The look on Harmony’s face is devoid of all hope. “I- I can’t leave with you. Someone needs to be here to cover your tracks, at least at first. If… If it’s necessary, then I _will_ talk to women at another church. I’ll- I’ll find a way to obey God and escape your father.” She turns to her son then, her eyes full of tears and her lip wavering. The tears fall and she stumbles over a sob. “Just- Please be okay. Go somewhere where you can be okay.”

Travis meets her eyes. He holds her gaze for three heartbeats before closing his own tear-filled eyes. “Okay. Swear you’ll put yourself before him.”

“I-” She swallows hard. “I swear. If it means your safety, then I swear it on God. I swear to you.”

Some of the tension leaves Travis’ body and he nods, though he doesn’t look satisfied. “Okay. I’m not leaving Nockfell - I’m probably going to be staying at Addison Apartments for a while. You can always come find me. Always.”

“I will. I’ll find you. I love you.”

Something not unlike a smile crosses Travis’ face. It’s gone in a moment, but it was there. “I love you too. I love you very much.”

Harmony puts a hand over her mouth, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then nods. “Okay. Okay, you two need to leave- soon. Very soon. He’s going to grow suspicious.”

“It’s safer if we leave through the front door,” Travis says. “It will look less suspicious. You won’t be in as much trouble.”

“...Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

They all stand as a unit, awkward and on edge. An energy thrums, the air around them full of anticipation - an energy which will be hard to hide from Kenneth Phelps. Wide eyes and shaking hands are a dead give away, if nothing else.

Travis looks around, biting his lip. “You should- go look busy. Make it seem like you’ve been doing housework. Sal and I will make our way to the front door and hopefully avoid him.”

Harmony looks unsure. “But, honey, your clothes-”

“If he catches us leaving, I’ll say I’m walking Sal home and make do with the clothes I’ve got in Neil’s car. If he doesn’t, I’ll sneak around the side and-”

“This is silly.” She shakes her head, looking suddenly uncertain. Panicked. “Please, just go through the side door.”

“I won’t put you in undue danger! It’s unnecessary, we’ll be fine-”

Sal puts a hand on his shoulder, causing his head to turn in shock. “Travis, we need to be careful. Let’s just sneak through the side. Your father’s study is on the other side of the house, anyways, right? No way he’ll catch us that way.”

Travis takes a deep breath. “I need to know that my mother will be okay.”

“I will be.” They both look at her, see the certainty and quiet determination on her face, and share an exhale. “I swear. I’ll go up and distract him just in case while you sneak through the side door and exit the gate.”

A moment of silence passes, Sal and Harmony moving between watching Travis and watching the house.

“Okay,” Travis finally forces out. His teeth are grit and his face is miserable. “You’re a grown woman. You’re a grown ass woman and you’ve been here a long time. You can handle this.”

“Damn right.”

He looks at her in surprise. Her smile is small and timid, but it’s still bright. Sal can’t help but beam back.

A sound comes from the house, something banging and violent, and Harmony scurries off to take care of it without time to even shout a goodbye behind her. Sal knows his job, but the sight of Travis' stricken face makes that job hard. All he can do when he takes Travis' hand is accept that his is not the hand his boyfriend wants to be holding right now. He is not Travis' mother - but he has a duty to her all the same, just as he has a duty to Travis. What Travis needs is more important than what he wants right now.

Sal tells himself this quickly, efficiently, and responsibly.

"Come on," Sal says quickly, efficiently, and responsibly, trying very hard not to let his tears touch his voice. "We need to sneak out here."

They do. They hide behind leafy green foliage and behind bright yellow blooms, tip-toeing across not-quite-lavender not-quite-red stone paths, and then squeeze through the opening of a gate which squeaks far too much. They make it through having made very little noise. When they pass the unbarking dogs, Travis' lip fully begins to wobble.

He stays strong. Sal is proud of him. His lip wobbles, but he doesn't cry. Not yet.

Sal grabs Travis' bag while his boyfriend keeps lookout.

Then, they're gone. No one follows.

And that's how they find themselves, at the end of it all, back in Sal's apartment. There's still some Red Lines from their trip on Wednesday, as well as some Gorgon Cola in the fridge. There's even that weird pineapple flavored stuff that Travis' loves.

They don't think about eating. They don't think about drinking. They don't think about Lisa, who's watching a movie with Diane and Gizmo on the living room couch. They don't think about Henry in his bedroom, tapping away at keys on a keyboard. They don't think about what happened today.

Sal thinks about the bag in Neil's car. Sal thinks about Travis thinking about Harmony.

Sal takes Travis' hand in his and squeezes it hard and thinks, _we are going to be okay._

**Author's Note:**

> conversion therapy is usually gas-lighting, manipulation, instilling fear in someone through lies, and occasionally electro-"therapy" and other such violence, but i can't imagine anyone who puts people through that saying no to a little baptism torture. while i've thankfully avoided conversion therapy (though the threat was clear), it's a fear i live with, so hopefully it didn't feel too much like a forced plot device.
> 
> and hopefully the fic isn't too hard to get through! i worked hard on it and i hope you enjoyed it 💖 thank you for reading!!


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